This Is For (M is For Memory)
by FortySevens
Summary: This is For: A series of mostly unconnected one-shots based on self-generated 1word prompts. M is for Memory: "I may not have remembered you, but I knew with everything that I had that I missed you."


The problem wasn't getting Darcy out of the lab AIM spirited her off to after they yanked her off the street while she was picking up groceries at one of the farmer's markets not far from the Tower.

_Six fucking weeks ago_.

The problem was that Darcy didn't remember the team—her friends, her _family_—when they finally rescued her.

_Six fucking weeks later_.

Clint's crutches clicked rhythmically as he hobbled down the hall in Medical after he got word that the team was back.

He'd have gone with them if it weren't for his damn broken leg.

Okay, he'd have gone with them if Natasha hadn't knocked him unconscious when he tried.

The doctor, one that made the jump from SHIELD to Stark Industries after the Hydra mess all those years ago, met him outside the small, private exam room, "She's a little nervous," she glanced down at her chart. "There are a lot of things she doesn't—Agent Barton, wait-"

He didn't bother as he pushed past her, easing into the room before he shoved the door behind him and locked it.

Darcy looked _small_ as she sat on the narrow bed wearing a baggy cotton hospital gown, bruises marring the side of her face and ringing around her narrow wrists, her legs swinging back and forth.

When she door opened, her head snapped up, "Oh, who are," she broke off and scowled as she shook herself, hands flying to press hard against her temples. "Clint. Your name is Clint. Sorry."

A weight lifted off his chest as he propped against the wall, resisting the urge to go to her when she started shaking, "You remember me?"

Her brows furrowed, "I don't know what's wrong with my brain right now. It's weird," she tilted her head, eyes narrowing to slits. "What the hell happened to your leg?"

The back of his neck flushed as he lifted one hand off his crutches and scratched the back of his head, muttering under his breath.

"_Clinton Francis Barton_."

"I fell out an air vent," he blanched, starting forward before he lost his balance and fell back. "Wait no, you _do_ remember!"

She pressed her hands to her mouth before holding them out, and Clint left his crutches leaning against the wall as he hobbled over and laced his fingers with hers.

"How long was I gone?"

"Too long. I'm sorry," he muttered as he looked down at their joined hands, his thumbs running back and forth over her knuckles. "If we had gotten to you sooner, they wouldn't have-"

Darcy dropped one hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, "No use. I'm okay, er well, I will be."

He shook his head as he took the hand back and pressed the backs of her fingers against his mouth, "You don't remember everything," he rasped through their hands. "You don't sound like _you_."

Smiling up at him, she placed her hands on his face, "I know my name," she trailed her hands down, her fingers catching on the loose chain around his neck. "I know _yours_."

She freed the chain from under his shirt and let it lay smooth against his chest.

"I remember _this_."

Resting her hands on either side of it, Darcy sat back and met his gaze, facing all the concern and fear and love swimming in his eyes, "In all the time I was gone, _however_ long that may have been," she wrinkled her nose playfully before she sobered. "There was one thing I knew."

She swallowed hard, still shaking as Clint rubbed his hands over hers, "I may not have remembered _you_, but I knew with everything that I had that _I missed you_."

Clint let out a wet, shaky breath as he leaned in and rested his forehead against Darcy's while her hands slid to his waist and she squeezed gently, "They could not take that from me."

They rested against each other for long minutes, their echoing breaths the only sounds in the quiet, sterile room.

"Now then," Darcy curled her fingers around the two rings hanging off the end of the chain and tugged, drawing his lips to hers.

He pulled away with a gasp, and she grinned, "I think it's high time I take these back, _husband_."

Clint cupped the back of her head and kissed her again, "_Later_," he whispered against her mouth. "I'll give 'em to you later."

They were well on their way to making out like teenagers when Darcy abruptly pulled back, one hand tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck as he eyes narrowed, and the bottom of Clint's stomach dropped out, fear gnawing at him.

Her scowl turned to a glare, "Don't think we won't have words about you and those air vents, buddy."

"Shut up," he rolled his eyes and went back to distracting her with his mouth.


End file.
